


The Deathly Solace of Presence

by that_1_incident



Series: Petals of Darkness [2]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Madam Spellman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 06:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_1_incident/pseuds/that_1_incident
Summary: An appendix toThe Shadowy Murmur of Sunsthat delves into the time Mary had to confirm for Zelda and Ambrose that no, the tattoo on the buttock of one of the mortuary's newest residents almost certainly did not portend the imminent release of the Four Horsemen and was more likely the result of a mortal taking the False Bible's description of a seven-horned lamb a little too literally.(Or, here's some Madam Spellman from Ambrose's rather incredulous perspective.)





	The Deathly Solace of Presence

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Clifford Franklin Gessler's "Petals of Darkness."](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=16315)
> 
> While it isn't absolutely necessary to have previously read [The Shadowy Murmur of Suns](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922571), I'd recommend doing so.
> 
> This was requested by [lady_blackwell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_blackwell) \- hope you like it!
> 
> See also: [Something Wicked This Way Comes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523309), [There's Magic in the Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575416), [There's Something About Mary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676707), [Post Tenebras Lux](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16781785), the aforementioned [The Shadowy Murmur of Suns](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922571), [The Silvery Glamour of Star-Birth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659382), and [Open, Locks, Whoever Knocks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279485).

When Ambrose sees the ominous marking on the buttock of one of the mortuary's newest residents, his initial reaction is to downplay its potential significance. After all, if there's one thing he knows about mortals, it's that they have a seemingly limitless predilection for augmenting their bodies in a remarkable array of unwise ways, and yet...

He hurries up to his room as unobtrusively as he can, alternating between not wanting to arouse the suspicion of his relatives and anxiously ascending the stairs two at a time. Upon his somewhat breathless arrival, he scrabbles for his well-worn False Bible - a book Zelda would at best castigate and at worst castrate him for so much as bringing into the house, let alone _consulting_ \- and flips nearly to the end.

" _Then I saw in the right hand of him who sat on the throne…_ Where's the lamb?" he murmurs under his breath, scanning the text as he runs his fingertip down the side of the page. " _Then I saw a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing at the center of the throne, encircled by the four living creatures and the elders. The Lamb had..._ " A chill runs down his spine. " _The Lamb had seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven spirits of God sent out into all the earth._ " He exhales slowly. "Shit." 

\--

While the mark may be nothing, it may also be _something_ , and although he diligently avoids the issue for as long as possible by busying himself with the soothingly rote task of draining the body in question of all its fluids, Ambrose can only take the aforementioned seven eyes staring unflinchingly at him from their prime location on the mortal's hindquarters for so long.

Given the enormity of what's on the line, he eventually comes to the begrudging conclusion that he should consult an oracle wiser than himself, despite being all too aware that his aunts (one of them in particular) will likely not appreciate the interruption. He hopes to Satan that Hilda is both home and prepared to provide a calm yet reassuringly bubbly explanation to instantly allay his trepidation - but, of course, she's nowhere to be found, which is just his luck. To make matters worse, Zelda takes one look at him and asks, "What is it, Ambrose?" in that beleaguered way of hers, thereby effectively forcing him to show his hand without the delay of any further preamble. Although he's aware that the questionable iconography of a seven-horned and seven-eyed lamb is probably the absolute last thing with which she'd prefer to be saddled A) right now and B) ever, he reluctantly elects to press on regardless, convinced as he is that the potential end of the world as he knows it trumps any and all risk associated with inciting his aunt's formidable wrath.

Sure enough, Zelda's perturbedly put-upon expression sharpens into chiseled concern as he explains the situation, and when he moves to descend to the mortuary's preparation room, she follows wordlessly behind him. Once she's inspected the mark for herself, the worry in her eyes suggests she's also of two minds about whether the corpse's unusual gluteal artistry portends the imminent release of the Four Horsemen or represents naught but a poor life choice, and Ambrose feels the pit in his stomach yawn wider.

"It's probably fine," Zelda concludes dismissively, and the assertion hangs in the air like a question mark until she ultimately concedes, "But I daresay seeking Mary Wardwell's counsel wouldn't be entirely gratuitous."

Ambrose raises an eyebrow. While he isn't opposed to the suggestion in the slightest, he's startled by its origin; even in such dire circumstances, he would've thought his aunt had far too much pride to solicit a second opinion, especially from _that_ specific individual. And, curiouser and curiouser, she actually seems faintly thrilled by the prospect.

\--

By the time Mary sweeps into the mortuary wearing an impossibly tight dress at which Ambrose has to make a concerted effort not to stare, he's worked himself into enough of a lather that the decidedly breathless summary he provides is rather lacking in perspicacity. She gazes at him pityingly as he babbles, exuding both an arrant unruffledness that makes him feel a bit silly and an air of impatience that suggests she has infinitely more important things to do today and doesn't appreciate the diversion. If he's perfectly honest, Mary Wardwell intimidates him to the point of wishing that Zelda - who doesn't exactly cast a meek shadow herself - were downstairs to serve as a buffer.

When Mary steps forward to examine the mark, she does so with the mien of someone making a charitable contribution for the sole purpose of being seen to do so. Following no more than a few moments of intent evaluation, she regales Ambrose with a decisive shake of her voluminous curls and then inquires sharply, "Have you been reading the False Bible?" 

Although Ambrose hasn't attended school in veritable decades, Mary's teacherly demeanor has the unsettling effect of expressly transporting him back to a dingy classroom in Edwardian London. "...I might pick it up from time to–" he begins tremulously, fearing the wrath his response is likely to incite, but she mercifully interjects before he can finish.

"I suspect _this_ wretched mortal has, and with entirely too literal of a mindset." She wrinkles her nose. "If anything, we're fortunate he expired before the ravages of age further compromised the tautness of his rump." 

Ambrose isn't completely sure how she expects him to reply to this assessment, but he's spared from crossing that bridge when Mary lifts her gaze to focus on something behind him and her appearance softens to the degree that her whole aura changes. When he turns, he's surprised to see his aunt standing in the doorway. 

"What are your thoughts, Ms. Wardwell?" Zelda queries with an uncharacteristic awkwardness, and her choice of moniker strikes Ambrose as oddly formal; while Sabrina justifiably addresses the teacher thusly, there's no reason he can surmise for Zelda to follow suit, especially in light of the fact that Mary's been such a frequent visitor to the Spellman residence of late. He'd think the two of them would at least be on a first-name basis by now. 

Mary rolls her unnervingly cerulean eyes a touch more dramatically than Ambrose would deem strictly necessary. "Nothing more than a mortal with a piteously thought-out tattoo."

"Praise Satan." Zelda sighs in relief. "The end of days is the last thing I need."

They exchange a brief, almost mirthful glance, and Ambrose notes with disbelief that his aunt appears to be positively _beaming_ at Mary; indeed, he rather wishes Sabrina were here to confirm the veracity of a sight so out of character that he suspects he might be going mad. As if sensing his incredulity, Zelda quickly rearranges the planes of her countenance into her usual haughty expression - a transformation so swift and complete that he instantly begins to doubt whether he ever saw anything to the contrary.

"Well, we appreciate your expertise," Zelda tells the other woman decidedly stiffly, then stares purposefully at her nephew with the wordless chastisement of a parent pointedly reminding a child to display its conspicuously missing manners. 

"Yes, we're - I'm..." Ambrose stammers, still thrown off by the absurd tenderness he may or may not have just observed on Zelda's face. "I'm sorry to bother you, Mar– er, Ms. Wardwell, it really... Thank you for taking the time." 

Mary gives him a little nod of acknowledgement, and by this juncture, all traces of the softness that adorned her features mere moments earlier have been replaced by an ethereal coldness that chills Ambrose to the core. He can't quite put his finger on it, but something about the darkness that perpetually lingers around Mary like a shroud feels supremely satanic. 

\--

After the women turn to head upstairs, Ambrose is about to resume business as usual when he sees a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and, unnoticed by either of them, proceeds to watch Mary press her hand to the small of Zelda's back in a manner he's unable to characterize as anything other than shockingly intimate. In all the decades he's known his aunt, he's never seen such reverent warmth grace her countenance, and the teacher looks similarly radiant, the harsh angles of her face illuminated by a light flush. The gentle curve of Mary's aggressively red lips is light-years from the too-white, too-bared flash of teeth that Ambrose has grown to expect from her in lieu of a genuine smile, and he realizes in spite of himself that she's strangely beautiful. 

While he technically hasn't witnessed anything untoward or inappropriate, the tangible electricity crackling almost visibly in front of him makes him feel he's intruding on a deeply private interaction, as if he walked in on them _in flagrante delicto_ and saw things to which he never should've been privy. Averting his gaze, he grabs his bone saw and gets to work.


End file.
